


Semantics

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, All anyone does on my Galactica is do it, F/F, Femslash, Identity Reveal, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash, Smut, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 10:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6190726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In most cases, the semantic difference between a woman who likes to frak and a woman who likes sex are erased if both find themselves enjoying the same sexual act at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Semantics

Louanne Katraine likes to frak.

Laura Roslin likes sex.

In most cases, the semantic difference between a woman who likes to frak and a woman who likes sex are erased if both find themselves enjoying the same sexual act at the same time. In other words, it's all a bunch of stupid-ass word games that would be fun to think about if there was time to.

But Kat's got her hand slammed over Racetrack's mouth because her favorite semi-private spot on Galactica to get in some frakking has been usurped by the president, and she'll be damned if she gets frakked out of her spot without learning a few things about how their fearless president likes her sex.

"Who _is_ it?" Racetrack hisses into Kat's ear. "The old man has his own gods-damned room, and he wouldn't frak her here. Is it Apollo?"

So Kat wasn't the only one who thinks that happened. Apollo and Roslin were just a little too close during that whole jail thing, but Kat just shakes her head and watches. Racetrack keeps trying to get good looks at the action, but Kat elbows her good and she calms the frak down.

Kat's first thought, of course, is that the gods-damned president has a whole ship of her own and thus doesn't really need to be getting frakked in Kat's favorite spot, but the minute Roslin's hand slides over her own throat with sheer lust, Kat forgets about that.

_Hot_ is what Kat's brain supplies. Roslin's got her other hand curled around the railing, holding herself up. Some grunt's got his head under her skirt and is working her good. At least Kat assumes it's good, cuz Roslin's head tilts back and her eyes are closed while her mouth's half open with some kind of need.

And her hips...

"Whoever it is," Kat mutters to 'Track, "She's riding him hard. Damn."

"I wanna see," Racetrack says.

"Yeah, I bet you do," Kat replies, mouth a little dry from watching. Usually she's not much of a watcher -- watching loses all its thrill when you're trying to pretend the rack across from you isn't occupied with two people trying to get in a handjob or two before they have to fly a CAP -- but the president's _wild_.

And she's not even all that naked. Kat can see her bra, because Roslin's shirt is half-off, but that's about it. So cleavage, tummy, and thigh is about it, but it's enough.

The guy's hands are on her thighs, bracing her while she rocks against his face, her knee flexing and straightening over and over again. Kat's turned on by the part where the president's still upright and wearing her frakking heels.

And suddenly Racetrack's hands are on Kat's tits, squeezing them while Kat watches another woman moan and shimmy against her lover's face.

"Hear that?" Kat murmurs, nipples getting hard from the sound and 'Track's hands.

"Frak yeah I did," Racetrack says. "Mmm."

Maybe it's how Roslin's mouth is moving that's making it so good for Kat. Sometimes she's got this dreamy-ass smile on her face, one she keeps wetting with her tongue. The way Racetrack's licking Kat's ear, kind of. But then the president's mouth drops open, and she whimpers or moans and Racetrack grinds against Kat.

"Can she see us?" Racetrack whispers into Kat's hair as she puts her hands under Kat's tanks, stroking Kat's stomach gently.

"If she was looking, yeah," Kat says softly. "Come on, 'Track, I'm frakking soaking through my uniform by now."

"Oh, yeah?" Racetrack says, biting on Kat's neck.

Kat bites down on her lip to not moan, because not only does that feel frakking amazing, Roslin's practically arched out of her skin, and her collarbone is shining with sweat. Plus, the president's glasses are actually hanging between her breasts on her bra, and Kat has almost come seeing that.

Somehow, it's just frakking hot, watching them bounce against Roslin's skin as the poor anonymous soldier keeps going, licking away. Just as hot is the sudden glimpse of the panties that have been resting against Roslin's ankle the whole damn time.

"Come on," Kat says. "Stop frakking with me and frak me."

"Ooh, you're hot for her," Racetrack says, her fingers unbuttoning Kat's pants. "No more making fun of the little fan club for you, Kat."

Kat would bother insulting Racetrack, but possibly 'Track is right, and she's too busy trying not to make noise anyway. Watching the president have sex with her boytoy while getting frakked is intense, and Kat's kind of hard up for insults.

"Yeah, you're hot," Racetrack hisses, her fingers not quite giving Kat what she needs. " _Damn,_ Kat."

Roslin's found a rhythm and she's moving faster and faster, her legs starting to tremble as those moans get louder. Kat puts her own hand against her mouth to keep from screaming. Racetrack's fingers keep brushing against wetter and wetter skin, but she's being mean. Teasing instead of slamming into Kat hard, making her as hot as that man's tongue is making their president.

Kat bites down hard on the meat of her thumb, because Roslin's back arches hard and suddenly the guy's got one hand on her ass, keeping her upright.

Even 'Track's not immune to it; she whimpers into Kat's ear and finally slides home into Kat.

Normally, Kat would be encouraging Racetrack with her dirty frakking mouth. Instead Kat's pretty sure she's gonna break the skin trying not to make a sound.

She sways against Racetrack, wishing that the angle was better. But there's not room, and they're making way too much frakking noise as it is.

And then Roslin's head snaps back like she's broken her neck and she bites DOWN on her lip, eyes open and shining. Kat's not stupid; she knows what this means. Roslin's coming hard, and she knows she's being watched.

"Faster, faster, gods damn it," Kat snarls. She's not going to be cheated out of hers now, because she's so frakking close, and Roslin's stolen her spot, she's not stealing her getting off. "Yeah, come on, use those fingers like you know how, Raptor girl."

Racetrack twists her fingers against that one spot that sets Kat off like gunpowder and she yells out, "Oh, my FRAKKING gods..." before she can stop herself, shuddering and miserable and satisfied.

"Are you SERIOUS?" Racetrack yelps, pulling her fingers out of Kat with a wet pop. "Come on, let's go, half the ship heard that, you..."

Racetrack's running with that, leaving Kat to hold up her pants and deal with her mangled bra, running as fast as jelly-legs can carry her down the corridor and around the corner.

"You are such a frakking cunt," Racetrack said. "Do you know what the hell she can do to us?"

"Yeah, sure, and then she'll have to tell the old man she's got herself a Viper jock licking her in the secret sex spot of Galactica," Kat says, laughing and panting and shaking. "Like that'll happen."

"You sure it wasn't him?" Racetrack asks, her sticky-ass fingers resting on her pants leg as she glares at Kat.

"Too skinny," Kat says with a shrug. "Did you frakking hear her?"

"Frak yeah, I did," Racetrack admits. "That was a wrong thing we did, Katraine."

"Hot as frakking hell, though," Kat says, taking a long shuddering breath in and out. "After my patrol, we have a date in the showers."

"Yeah, we do," Racetrack mutters, and Kat knows that 'Track's as wet as she still is, and aching to get frakked hard. "And you're gonna tell me all the wild shit you saw."

They're both kind of trembly, and Kat really wants to know who was giving it to Roslin, but it feels good, too, being here with Racetrack and thinking about what they're gonna do to each other.

Then Starbuck comes strolling around the corner and she's looking for someone. She's got a look on her face like she's looking...and her eyes fall on Kat.

"Kat."

Oh, frak her. Kat tries to smile at Starbuck, remembers that Starbuck just spent the last fifteen minutes with her head under Roslin's skirt, and pulls it off.

"You've got a loud frakking mouth, Katraine," is all Starbuck says.

"Mama always said so," Kat replies, standing her ground. If they want to do this, Kat can handle it. She refuses to be afraid of Starbuck these days and especially over something like this. "Anything else, sir?"

"Keep it shut next time," Starbuck says, turning on her heel and leaving.

Kat inhales when Starbuck's out of sight. Racetrack is pale and that's always a sign she's freaking out, but Kat can handle Racetrack, too.

"You sure you wanna hear about it, babe?" she asks Racetrack quietly.

"Yeah," Racetrack says shakily. "Hey, Kat?"

"Yeah?" Kat asks.

"That just happen?"

Kat thinks about it and smirks. The best thing about this story, she realizes, is that she could tell it anywhere and no one would buy it.

So she pets Racetrack's arm and thinks of all the ways she's gonna frak her later while telling her about how Starbuck's frakking Roslin.

Patrol's gonna suck, but it's gonna be worth it.

"Yeah," she finally says, "It did."


End file.
